Glenn Kleier - The Last Day

Hunter walked over to the drapes and pulled them aside briefly. The sun was a trifle higher on the horizon now, so it was dawn. Despite the hour, the entire landscape beyond was filled with people. Many were slumbering on blankets and in sleeping bags in the open air, or in tents. But many were awake and holding quiet vigil with lighted candles in the diminishing shadows. They reacted with excitement to Hunter's fleeting presence at the window.

Across the room, the silent TV displayed a video of thousands of millenarians packing up and heading out of Jerusalem. A wider shot showed steady streams of them merging into vast caravans snaking their way along the roads out of the Holy City. Israeli soldiers were smiling to the cameras as they directed traffic. Nearby, groups of celebrating Arab women were shown laughing, waving their veils above their heads in liberation. A headline font on the screen read, “Holy Land Returning to Normal.”

“How long have I been out?” Feldman asked.

“Five days,” Hunter informed him.

On the TV, a scene of celebration at Times Square looked as if the Yankees had just won the World Series. A huge bonfire roared in the middle of an enormous crowd. Under a sign bearing the initials “NRA,” bucket brigades of cheering people fed an unending supply of empty rifles and pistols, knives and assorted weaponry into the blaze. A headline banner on the screen read: “National Rifle Association Changes Name to National Resistance to Arms.”

“Five days?” Feldman was amazed.

“Yeah, we've been taking turns watching over you.”

“We?”

“Me, Cissy, Alphonse and Anke. I had the morning shift today.”

“Anke? Anke was here!” Any pain Feldman had been experiencing was gone.

“She's still here,” Hunter explained. “She's been here since about three o'clock Monday morning. Came as soon as she heard the news. She and Cissy are in a room down the hall now gettin’ some sleep. They're wasted.”

“I’ve got to see her!” Feldman insisted. “Just as soon as she wakes, okay? It's very important!”

“No problem, man, she's certainly gonna want to see you. But how about I get the doctor now?”

“Wait a minute!” Feldman stopped him. “First tell me what happened with Goene and Tamin.”

Hunter sighed and sat back in his chair, shaking his head soberly, looking off into space. “Tamin is in an Israeli prison awaiting trial. Goene is dead.”

Noticing Hunter's unusually somber expression, Feldman nodded slowly, a tightening in his throat. Tentatively, he asked, “And how did he die?”

The pilot shot him. Saved my life…”

Relieved, Feldman started to pursue the issue further but noticed Hunter's strange, disturbed expression, and thought better of it.

There was a report on the TV of a priest being interviewed by a news correspondent in front of a moving van. Across the screen a headline read: “More Church Closings.” The video cut away to show people packing boxes in the sacristy and moving out furniture. The segment ended with the pastor locking the front door of the church.

At that moment, Alphonse Litti, breezing into the room to relieve Hunter, drew up short in joyous surprise. He was beside himself, grabbing Feldman and hugging him repeatedly and excitedly.

“Thank God, Jon! You've been restored to us, just as Jeza promised!”

“Jeza?” Feldman returned the embrace as best his disabled arms would allow. “You saw Her?”

“Yes,” Litti beamed. “She told me yesterday morning…”

Feldman inhaled.

“… in my dreams!” Litti added.

Feldman exhaled. But he turned his disappointment into a smile.

On the TV, Feldman was surprised to catch a video clip of Hunter and Litti shaking hands with Prime Minister Eziah Ben-Miriam, accompanied by the Lubavitcher rabbi, Mordachai Hirschberg, Commander David Lazzlo in civilian attire, and a hesitant-looking Cissy McFarland. A font read: “Israel Commits Funds for International Jeza Studies Center in Jerusalem.”

His eyes wide, Feldman pointed to the screen. “What's this, guys?”

Litti and Hunter turned together and reacted with proud smiles. “That's right, Jon,” Litti responded. “Breck, Rabbi Hirschberg, former Commander David Lazzlo, Miss Cissy, all of us decided we wanted to work together to spread the message of. the New Way. To proclaim Jeza's words. Her truth.”

Feldman gaped in amazement at the big cameraman. “Breck? Breck, you a missionary?”

“Not a missionary,” Litti corrected him. “Simply a ‘disseminator of information.’ We're going to establish a center here in Jerusalem, dedicated to facts and information associated with Jeza. A college of Her works and wisdoms. An archive of Her message.”

Feldman was beyond astonishment. He examined intently the self-conscious face of his longtime friend. “I don't believe it! Breck, a minister! But didn't Jeza command no churches, no preaching?”

Hunter wagged his head. “I'm not gonna be a minister, Jon. An administrator, maybe, but this isn't a church. We're not gonna interpret Jeza's scripture. We're simply gonna spread Her gospel. And we're gonna spread the other scripture books as well. The Bible, the Koran, the Talmud, all of ‘em. Only, we're gonna fix all the corrupted passages exactly like She instructed. And we're gonna assemble all the video records I have and make a collection of Jeza's complete tapes, available for anyone who wants ‘em. Free!

“Although,” he added, turning to Litti reflectively, “we might want to consider a few corporate donations to help defray…” Catching Feldman and Litti's reproachful looks, Hunter broke into an apologetic grin. “All right so no sponsors. But anyway, Cissy and I, we're gonna go on the Internet with everything, set up a communications system-modems, faxes, the whole nine yards. It's gonna be great!”

This was something Feldman would never have anticipated of Hunter the Hedonist. “Things are over between you and Erin, then?” he presumed, hopefully.

“Yeah.” Hunter shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “And she's got herself a new job now.” He turned, picked up the TV control and switched channels.

There she was, preening charismatically up on the screen, tossing her hair above the byline, “Erin Cross, UBN Morning News Anchor.”

Feldman smiled and nodded his head. “And what about you and Cissy now?”

Hunter shrugged again and grinned. “She doesn't exactly trust me yet, but she says she's willing to try me out on ‘a probationary basis.’ We'll see. Anyway, we've got big plans for the center. And we want you to join us, too.”

Litti stood beaming next to Hunter, nodding his encouragement.

“Me?” Feldman gasped. “I'm a reporter. What would I do?”

“You could narrate our videos,” Hunter suggested. “Give inspirational talks about Jeza. Answer all the questions people will have about what She's like, your personal experiences with Her, stuff like that. Jon, you're one of the chosen!”

As he shook his head at all this, yet another news report caught Feldman's eye. “Worldwide Cessation of Hostilities,” the headline read, and the screen displayed a series of supporting film clips with the banners: “Rwandan Hutus and Tutsis Declare Truce”; “Serbs, Croats and Muslims Form Alliance”; and “Castro Addresses U.S. Congress.”

Next on the screen appeared an image of cleanup crews in Belfast, Northern Ireland, shown clearing the streets of riot debris left over from the Easter weekend Cataclysm. The camera cut to a historic meeting between former archadversaries, headlined: “Rapprochement Between Ex-Catholic and Ex-Protestant Leadership.”

“Amazing!” Feldman exclaimed with delight.

“Yeah,” Hunter acknowledged brightly, following Feldman's eyes. “Stuff like that's happening ad over the place. Lifelong enemies befriending one another. Sudden, unprovoked, random acts of kindness between total strangers, breakin’ out ad over the globe. Everywhere, charitable contributions goin’ through the roof. It's incredible!”